


Daylight

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Choking, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, M/M, Rough Sex, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: Kylo needs to let go of all thought, to give over only to sensation. Hux knows better than to indulge him in these things.
(But he does it anyway.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loobeeinthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loobeeinthesky/gifts).



> My brain has this _wonderful_ habit of autocannibalising itself on the regular, but something that tends to help me out of it is writing largely mindless smut (which is in and of itself inherently weird, because it's not like I'm a deft hand at it or anything). And my brain was being a shit the other day, and then [@littleststarfighter's gorgeously evocative picture of a few weeks back](http://littleststarfighter.tumblr.com/post/151937529622/if-you-could-only-see-the-beast-youve-made-of-me) started doing the rounds on my dash again, and I was just like I KNOW WHAT I NEED and this fic was born. It's an odd thing, and actually something I could spend days just dabbling with, but I figure this is as complete as it will ever be. I may puddle with it some more, but for now...either way, the art is extraordinary, and just reached out to take me by the throat and _squeeze_ until I was breathless and loving it.
> 
> Also, the title was inspired by listening to a slew of Delerium songs while sketching out its most basic structure, [most specifically this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sto_VkKCL38). Because boy, are those boys _screwed_.

If one went by only his known schedule, Hux should have finished his work for the cycle a full half-shift ago. But when Ren noted that the man remained in his office rather than having returned to quarters, he could not summon anything like surprise. He just deviated from his own course, and went to the man there instead.

“What is it, Ren,” the man said with dull incuriosity as the door slid open, not once looking up from his datapad to confirm the identity of his guest; with that said, as sole co-commander and the only Force user aboard the ship, there were precious few other options as to who else could barge into his office without permission.

And Ren’s returned words came simple, flat. “I don’t want to think anymore.”

His eyes flared, then narrowed, but still Hux did not look up. Yet he had not reckoned on Ren being without his helmet; even for all his usual evenness of tone, Ren could make out the faintest tremor beneath the glacial calm.

“And here I was, under the distinct impression that you rarely _think_ at all.”

“ _Hux_.”

“Ren.” The reply came even enough, but Ren could see the faint stutter in the movement of his fingers, the low twitch of his lips. And then, short and sharp, “I have work to do.”

“It will wait.” And he stepped forward, carrying the shadows with him even in the utilitarian brightness of Hux’s office. “You are off-shift,” he added, with a touch more urgency. And Hux scoffed, skipping to the next page; such haste over his precious work spoke more for how rattled he was than the brisk words themselves.

“It will not wait.”

“Neither will I.”

And again, another page turned, his frown etching ever deeper; stilled eyes reflected only the bright holo before them. “Ren, I really do not think—”

“ _Please_.”

He stopped stock still. A long moment dragged past, fraught and fragile. When Hux chose again to move, he did so in very careful measured steps: first he set down the datapad. Then he stared at its blankened screen for a full count to thirty. Eventually, he folded his hands before him, brow smooth, eyes distant. His hands were ungloved, Ren noted. His skin already heated at the thought of their touch, knowing and certain and sure.

And then Hux looked up. Such strange eyes, had his general. Sometimes they seemed a dark storm-green, the waters of Naboo roused to fierce blood-tempest. At other times they turned very nearly blue, strangest echo of the vast empty skies of lone Tatooine.

This evening, they lingered somewhere in between. And, too, they were watchful, almost curious. Behind them Ren sensed a lurking exhaustion – or perhaps it was just the shadows of his shielded thoughts, growing longer with the deepening hour.

“Where shall we do this, then?” Hux asked, at last. Ren’s shoulders might have sagged with relief, had he not known that this was where it would end, right from the very beginning.

“Up on the observation deck.”

Hux sat back in the chair, gifted him a contemplative, half-lidded gaze. “Why, I’d no idea you’d become such an aesthete, Ren.”

“I need this.”

The stiff, stilted words only made him shake his head, looking down again to the black screen that had once held his complete attention. “So I gather,” he murmured, more to himself than anybody else. But when he glanced up again, his usual sharp poise had almost entirely returned. “At least grant me time enough to shower.”

It was not a request. Even if it had been, Ren would not have been of a mind to deny him that much. “I will wait.”

“And so you will.” Already Hux pushed to his feet, reaching for his coat, holopad abandoned upon the painful neatness of his desk. “Comm me when you are ready. And have what you need prepared, I haven’t the time to baby you.”

A shiver moved through him as the general passed by, their shoulders barely brushing before Ren was left quite alone. Dizzied for a moment, Ren closed his eyes; then, in the darkness, he braced one hand against the desk. His breath came too quick, heavy and hoarsening by the moment. In the days before these, when the noise of his thoughts became too much, he would simply have thrown himself upon the untender mercies of the physical. Only mindless learned motion, endless repetition of kata and form, could hope to drive out the mental barrage that would otherwise but drag him under, and to drowning.

But he had found another way. Only Hux could give him what he needed, now.

But for all Hux’s impatient words, Ren had no real need to prepare. He had already made his arrangements. Hux would have scoffed to know it, would have said he was hardly so easily ensnared. Ren would not argue the point. For a long time, it had even been true. But Ren also knew that this thing between them, unspoken and unnamed though it was, would never be so easily denied.

But even though Ren had left himself precious little enough to do, Ren did not comm Hux so quickly after their parting. Upon entering the chosen observatory, lit by little more than the ambient light of the space beyond its great viewports, he moved instead to stand at their centre. With his breathing turned careful and slow, eyes closed to faint darkness, he could take some false calm in this. While he waited for the truer peace he knew was yet to come.

Ren had never been good at meditation. Skywalker had been a poor teacher, though perhaps he had come by such failing honestly. The man had after all taught himself, had found his own way to a method that would prove of little enough use to Ren himself. He had only found real truth in such practice when Snoke’s tutelage had taken him to Endor. There he had found the deathmask of his grandfather. With such precious artefact before him, Ren knew something closer to serenity, even if it was yet held slightly beyond his grasping reach. There was so much more to be done, yet.

But this, he wanted. Desired. _Needed_. Ren opened his eyes, found himself standing very nearly on the edge, nothing beneath him but the starfield: empty, endless, very nearly eternal. And without thought, he found the comm unit in his hands, brief missive already sent. Ren resumed his quiet contemplation, waited only for the answering whisper of an opened door.

Hux came quick. He would always be a military man. Ren held his own position in silence, dressed only in his robes, mask long since discarded. He could feel the general’s eyes upon him, the openness of deepening curiosity. But even in this silence Ren made no particular effort to seek out Hux’s specific thoughts – in fact he could not, not without Hux’s express permission. Snoke had long ago made clear to his pet general the methods by which the man might shield his thoughts from a Force user, if said Force user were not intent on using malicious means to gain entry.

Yet Ren’s senses were always open to mood, to intent. Hux did not speak his question aloud, had barely formed it even in his own conscious thoughts. And yet Ren answered it with almost careless ease.

“If there’s something I don’t want people to know about me, then they will not know it.” And he allowed himself a half-smile, almost mocking. “No-one will know we are here.”

Hux permitted himself a low intake of breath, let it go almost a half-minute later. “I see you have indeed prepared.”

Ren could feel now that his eyes had turned upon the tableau spread out before him. A veritable nest of thick blankets and pillows had been piled before the great viewports, opened to space beyond. This was the wrong side of the ship to gaze upon Starkiller, but Ren had little care for that. While he had invited Hux here, it had not done it not simply for the benefit of the man himself.

“I told you.” And now he turned, hood lowered, head tilted. “I _need_ this.”

He saw now Hux still wore his greatcoat over his shoulders, but no command cap; it left his hair limned silver and gold in dim starlight. It startled Ren, for a moment; he had never before imagined what Hux might look like as an old man. And then, the vague thought had been shaken away. Such realities were not meant for those such as them, perhaps.

“So are _you_ yourself prepared for this thing you need of me, then?” Hux asked, clear dubiousness in every word as his eyes raked over the complicated layers of Ren’s chosen clothing. With a light snort, Ren raised his hands.

It took but a matter of moments to strip himself utterly naked. Once, he might have turned away from Hux’s assessing gaze over his body; once, he might have been ashamed of what he was, and what he might never be. But now, sure in his needs, sure of where they might be met, he only moved a vague hand in Hux’s direction.

“You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Hux snorted with open derision. “I’m not exactly the shy type, Ren.”

But this was a kind of nakedness the general had not expected. Ren could see that in him: in the odd stiffness of movement as he carefully folded and set aside his uniform. In the jolting way he straightened, passing a hand back through his hair. Long and pale, Hux seemed little more than mere wraith in the gloom.

But then he stepped forward, every stride sure, his eyes bright and blazing. Ren could barely catch his breath for the _power_ of him, and then Hux’s hand darted forward, fingertips ghosting over his jaw as if an artist contemplating the rough clay of a half-formed masterpiece. And then, it dipped back, tight grip closing on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What do you _want_ , Ren?”

This close to him, their noses almost pressed together, Ren could taste the ion-spark of Hux’s unique energy. “I _need_ ,” he croaked, correcting, “I need _this_.”

A brief snarl, and then their lips were together – but it could hardly be called a true kiss. It was brutal demand instead, teeth digging deep; Ren knew the salty taste of blood, iron-thick tang against his tongue. Pulling harder at his scalp, Hux only forced them ever closer. Their hips had already fitted themselves together, finding familiar rhythm with their awakening arousal. Hux’s clear desire for him had always been a gratifying thing; if nothing else, Ren could clearly see how much Hux’s cock wanted to make berth in his body, even if the rest of his disdain could not be so easily denied.

Now Hux walked him backward, to the hard thump of shoulders against transparisteel. And Hux still sought out his lips with his teeth, as if he might draw from him unique vitality – the way his beloved Starkiller would drink deep of her kills, relentless until she had taken her vampiric fill. Hands held his head still, lips moving over jaw, cheek, then down: at his throat, Hux moved in tickling tease along the length of his collarbone. And Ren tilted his head back, baring his pulse, just enough to see the stars above.

“What are you trying to forget, Ren?” It came in vicious whisper, biting against his skin with every rise and fall of his demanding intonation. “What could be so _important_ , that you don’t want to know it anymore?”

“Everything.” The answer came bleak, too bold. “And nothing.”

And Hux was hissing, again, as if burned. “Always the philosopher.” His hand moved, nails digging deep. “No wonder you failed Jedi school.”

A growl bubbled up through his chest, hands pressing fiercely back; Hux half-stumbled, caught himself quick. But Ren caught him a moment later, hands in bruising grip around biceps. Defiant, Hux stared back, eyebrow in mocking arch.

“Careful, Ren.” His tongue dipped out, traced the curled curve of his upper lip. “Who else will you have to play these games with, if not me?”

Crushing their mouths together, Ren savoured the bitter taste of him, as cruel as his careless words. They had always left him ravenous for more. And his own overlarge hands skimmed brief over the curve of Hux’s skull; one anchored itself in the bright hair even as the other moved down over the ladder of his spine, pausing brief over the swelling crest of one buttock. Then it curved close, fingertips slipping into the crease, seeking out the faint heat of his fluttering hole.

“ _No_.” And when Hux reared back, one hand on his chest, those eyes had turned very green now. “ _That’s_ not what you want.”

Without waiting for any answer, nor for anything like assent, Hux pushed him back, pushed him down. For all his leanness of build, the strength of him had the power to surprise Ren even now. He had but rarely seen him in offensive strike; the officers did not train in the way of the frontline ‘troopers. But upon occasion Ren had stumbled over some rare session, finding Hux stripped to bare feet and sleeveless shirt – hair slicked back by sweat rather than his usual pomade, eyes narrowed, lips curled back from white teeth. If he were lucky enough to come in near the end, he might even find that delicate skin mottled purple and blue, lips streaked with blood, knuckles grazed and his smile half-wild and fierce.

But it was almost too easy for Ren’s retaliation: to push him over, to send Hux sprawling upon his slim back. “You wanted me to make preparations for myself,” he said at once, ducking away from the kick of one heel. But also he smiled, half-hoarse and hurting as he spread his hands in something close to surrender. “So allow me, now to prepare _you_.”

Hux’s mind always moved quick in battle. The slim white thighs, long with lean muscle, fell wide; one hand, imperial and mocking in its sweeping motion, indicated what lay between. “Be my guest.”

For all the feigned boredom of his tone, his cock told a far truer tale; more than half-hard, it arched up from the neatly trimmed thatch of dark auburn hair. Ren had always been fascinated by it: the length, the shades it took, the girth that felt as fitted to his hand as the grip of his own lightsaber. And then, too, the long vein along the underside, and its flushed fat head with no foreskin to roll back, neatly cut away in his youth.

His own cock continued a long slow throb between his own legs, emerging from the thick sheath at its crown. But Ren paid it no heed now. With Hux laid bare before him, Ren’s tongue flickered out to trace a light coronet about the flushing head. While still not a mastered skill, it remained always one he was willing to practice and perfect. And his throat with reflexive greed worked at even this light taste, the faint salt of his spend already building in the clear fluid. And Ren might have smiled, had he not chosen instead to fit his lips over said head, giving but a brief suck. Hux’s low furious mutter, he soothed with open-palmed hand over a sharp hip. And then he was pulling back, licking his lips, glancing upward to find Hux glaring downward.

“Get _on_ with it, then.”

Had it been another night, he might have turned his head, might have closed lips over the soft inner skin of one thigh and bit him to bleeding. Yet all true fight had fled him now. Ren only moved forward, lips slick and smooth as he slid him deep. Hux’s hissing breath came as from far away, the low promised brontide of storm yet to break. Ren would willingly coax it closer – with his mouth, his lips, and his cheeks hollowed out. And now he held him deep, pressing the length of his tongue up against the underside of twitching heat. Only when Hux began to heave and curse did Ren draw back, holding the head between his lips, fingertips moving in gentle shift along the glistening shaft.

And for all Ren could sense his arousal, the low crimson pulse of desire in his aura and sheening the surface of even his most even thoughts, Hux still came sudden enough for it to be a surprise. Ren in turn drank deep, pressing close, the light scratch of thick hair against his dampened chin.

And when he drew back, it was to know the ghost of fingertips along the low ache of his jaw. “Is that all you wanted?” Hux whispered, the sting of it so at odds with the soft touch now removed. “A holy draught taken from the very fount itself?”

Ren allowed himself a low snort as he glanced upward, the back of his hand drawn over his lips, the drag sweet welcome burn. Hux, languid as a king, reclined upon the crisp white of shimmersilk and tightly-woven cotton, one eyebrow arched as if waiting further display of obeisance. In answer Ren reversed first back upon his heels, and then upon his sit bones. Once there, with feet braced upon the floor, his thighs opened and hips tilted upward.

One hand rose, traced the curled curiosity of his lips. “Oh, so it’s to be a show, then?”

Ren blinked, just once. With the starlight behind him, Hux’s blazing hair seemed crowned all in silver. “Why don’t you just shut up and watch?”

“Because I’m used to being the one centre stage, perhaps?”

And Ren’s voice rumbled low from his throat, to his ear hardly spoken word at all. “I think you’ll enjoy being the audience, this time.” Hux made no response, though Ren could hardly miss the flicker in his eyes at the way the lubricant came to his hand. The faintest hum in the air spoke of his unease. Hux would never grow accustomed to the Force in any use. And that knowledge could not but bring a faint stab of something blunt and aching, striking him low in his gut.

But it was not the moment to dwell upon such realities. Not now, with the man before him, willing and waiting. With fresh slickened fingers, Ren let go of thought; instead he skirted his own dripping cock, pressing light over the seam between groin and thigh as his hand moved down. It teased along the shivering heat of perineum, and then: index and ring finger, in simple harmonic shift, pressed apart his cheeks. The middle finger delved deep a moment later, without warning, without sound; instead, Ren arched his back, opened his mouth, and only smiled with unvoiced pleasure.

But he knew Hux watched, would never once look away as Ren lost himself in sensation. And willingly mired deep in such labyrinth, he had no knowledge of time passing; in those moments that followed Ren had barely any active recollection of its true function. All that mattered was Hux’s hungry gaze, fixed upon the finger as it jutted in and out. With his eyes closed, Ren drifted as if lost in the void of space, anchored only by the weight of those sharp knowing eyes.

As his body opened, relaxed, the third finger shifted, slid in; then, the fourth followed. Hux gasped, low and straining, as if he were the one pierced. Still Ren smiled, though his eyes had opened now. Before him, the stars spread out behind Hux as if an invitation to fall. Teetering upon their very pinnacle, Ren felt himself rendered weightless, dreaming, the callused pads of his fingers a sparking drag over the bundle of nerve endings: it set him alight, each pass blazing through his mind, burning away true thought. Already his thick fingers moved so easily inside himself. Somewhere, from deep within his drowsing mind, came the dizzying thought that perhaps, given time enough, he might even take his whole hand within.

But he had no time. Not with Hux rising now before him, hand moved again to his own hardening cock, the long slow stroke a knowing demanding promise.

“Is _this_ what you needed?”

The hoarse threat dragged low moan from his tightened throat, and Hux needed no further invitation. Already he came forward, pressing him apart, Ren but willing prey to roused predator. Even as Hux bowed his head for what would have been the killing blow, Ren cradled his head, drew him close and down. And Hux was biting, sucking at his breast, purpling the skin – as if by drinking of his blood he might take some part of Ren deep within his own self.

But Ren wanted Hux to be the one within. His hand had already shifted down, taking his dick in hand. As he drew him close, his teeth dug deep into his lower lip in fierce anticipation. It always hurt. No matter how he prepared himself beforehand, he had never known this action to be without pain. Even his own blunt wide fingers could never be enough. But it was more than just the physical stretch of it, the heart-stopping moment of breach. As Hux moved in, his breath hissed out with head thrust back. The stars filled his eyes, and for a moment Ren feared he would fall.

“No.”

Cold filled him, sudden paralysing icestorm; he looked down, eyes wide, to find Hux pulling out, pulling back. And he gasped upon words unspoken, lodged in his chest, choking him as if pushed into the void, all oxygen stolen and his body glacially still.

But Hux already fisted his slick cock again, sitting back on his heels to gesture with one impatient hand. “Hands and knees, Ren.” And, at his utter incomprehension, he rolled his eyes: storm-swirl of blue and green and gold. “Hurry up, would you? I haven’t got all night.”

Stumbling, hands grasping for purchase that would not come, Ren found his place only with the steadying press of Hux’s hands upon his hips. The respite lasted not long; with a sharp thrust in, Hux forced him forward, topping his precarious balance to leave him half-bent in upon himself, forearms braced parallel to the floor. Ren could not complain. Such angle of frank attack left him with white-out vision, the taste of shimmersilk soft in his mouth as he gasped, bit down, groaned to feel Hux just where he had needed him.

And then, Hux went deeper still. Each knowing thrust brought the slide of cockhead over prostate; his aim had always been a focused, deadly thing. With every nerve ending alive and burning, Ren garbled words that never before had meaning in the first place, chest tight and taunting him with the memory of true air. One of Hux’s hands fisted his hip, the other skating up over his chest, fingers twisting over a nipple. With a desperate gulp of air, Ren thrust back, found he had nowhere to go. There was only the slide of material beneath damp skin, the ache of an arched spine, toes curled to crushing and a hip joint opened too wide; when he gave up, head lowered and sweat stinging his eyes, letting his cheek press to soft material – there he found the faintest damp hint of collected saltwater.

Ren had never known this before Hux: being overtaken and overwhelmed, a cock deep in his ass; the heat and pressure of it, damp and driving demand. But even as Hux pushed him low, Ren thrust himself upward and back; with Hux’s narrow chest pressed to his skin, the man’s thundering heartbeat shuddered through his very blood. But the general would not let him rise up, not entirely. Hux instead let his full weight fall upon Ren’s arched body, one hand in reflexive grip about bared throat. And there his fingernails moved in low drag, the tease of true first blood not yet drawn.

And the words spilled out as from a swift cut, pressurised and pouring from him in arterial gout. “I love you,” Ren whispered, “I love you, I love you, _I love you_.”

And Hux’s hips juddered against him, rhythm stolen, hand fisting. “How _dare_ you,” he spat out, ragged, harsh. And Ren laughed, high and hurting and somewhere terribly close to hysterical.

“It’s okay.” Gasping against a tightening grip, he laughed, impossibly, again. “It’s _okay_ , Hux. You don’t have to love me back.”

“ _Idiot_.” Thick, heavy, the words came as the slow pump of blood from a wound inflicted too terribly long ago. “As if you ever gave me the bloody _choice_.”

His hand only pressed deeper against his throat. Ren’s arm moved in inevitable echo, fingers about Hux’s own, as if he would ever need to teach or even coax such a man into violence. His other arm trembled beneath the weight thrust upon it, the acid burn of muscle forced beyond screaming limit. And he closed his eyes, pushed harder against Hux’s clever fingers. Behind eyelids, the grey-black of vision denied, he knew last the vague phosphene of remembered image; then, there was the exploding white of oxygen denied. Somewhere he could make out the distant sound of his rasping breath, growing more laboured and hollow by the second. Then Hux shoved deep and Ren closed his own fist; the orgasm ripped through him as a blazing blade, burning and bright.

And then: nothing else remained.

A stinging slap reminded him of true reality. The blow twisted his head, the necklace of bruising about his throat shrieking at the pitiless movement. The lazy smile that came to his lips only fuelled the fierce blazing anger of the man looming over him, for all he opened his eyes just now, Hux but a trembling tremulous shape in his blurred vision.

“You should have told me to _stop_ ,” he hissed; when Ren blinked, focused, he could see now that Hux’s eyes had grown wild as the starburst corona of his hair. Ren only let his head roll again, one side to the other, his mind trapped languid and satiated between.

But Hux demanded answers – as he always had, for all Ren had precious few left to give. “I knew you would stop before it was too late,” Ren murmured, and sighed, slow and satisfied. “You always know how to stop. Before it’s too late.”

And the man was sitting back, lips pursed, hand raised to rake back through his hair – but it only completed half the motion before stopping, heel dug into the orbit of one now-closed eye. Ren could feel the other man’s frustration, vibrant and vibrating upon the air. His own words of but moments ago were an echo chasing itself, over and over within his mind. _I love you_ , Ren had said, thoughtless and true. And even now, Hux could not believe the words were real. _Would_ not believe.

But, as he had said, it was already too late. “But _you_ didn’t stop,” Hux whispered, more to his own darkness than the man before him. “Before it was too late.”

And Ren sighed, eyes wide open as he gazes upon the man before him. “Perhaps I just didn’t want to.”

The curl of his lip had Ren braced for another blow. But, instead of a punch, Hux instead threw himself down at his side, chest heaving, eyes skyward and etched silver with starlight. The silence between them could not help but be an awkward thing, the air thick, scented with sex and sweat and something still secret even now.

Hux spoke first, too sudden and too quick. “I’ve lived almost my entire life upon star destroyers. I’ve memorised the astrocharts of more systems than I care to recall.” And then he sighed, as if in some slow, unwilling surrender. “And yet…I don’t think I’ve ever just _looked_ at the stars.”

When Ren turned his head from those same stars, he found instead the bright blue of the other man’s eyes: silvered and cold, unclouded and clear. And he smiled, mind half-dreaming, upon the very verge of sleep.

“You could look at the sky forever,” Ren whispered, “and never know the half of what there was to see.”

His immediate response was only to roll his eyes, lips pressed tight over some scathing rebuttal. But then, in the end, they still they returned to match Ren’s own. “More philosophical nonsense,” he groused, and Ren only just resisted the temptation to reach across the bare remainder of the space separating him, to gently curl the fire of that hair away from damp skin.

“Perhaps,” Ren allowed, without venom. Hux grimaced, shook his head, hair curling in salt-limned disorder.

“It makes no _sense_.”

Yet Hux did not move away. His slight weight remained instead by Ren’s side, chest faintly heaving, not yet calmed to slow satiation. With his own body little more than one burning soft ache, Ren closed his own eyes, let sleep draw him ever deeper. He knew he did not imagine Hux’s eyes upon him still: azure blue and so very wide, watchful and open and so very far away.

And it came so sudden: the touch of lips upon his forehead, whispered words unspoken save for the tattoo they left upon his skin. Only then did Ren remember again what it was to fly, without the thought of falling.


End file.
